it's all about the clothes
by meruhen
Summary: It's a small world, the fashion industry. A series of ficlets set in an AU world. More notes inside. finally complete, as of 12/27/08.
1. back in style

**Title:**

**Fandom:** Prince of Tennis

**Characters:** various.

**Rating:** PG-R

**Warnings:** AU, possibly OOCness, crack pairings.

**Word Count:** varies

**Summary:** It's a small world, the fashion industry.

**Notes:** A series of drabbles/ficlets inspired by a simple drabble that turned into much more. Currently 21 ficlets (one of which won't be posted here since it's a PWP), featuring model!Yukimura, model!Fuji, designer!Tezuka, designer!Echizen, designer!Niou, CEO!Atobe, fashion editor!Sanada, photographer!Marui, PA!Yanagi, PA!Inui, and many more, I'm sure.

------

"He's going to bring black in style," are the first words Fuji hears about Tezuka, passing by a small group of people at one of the parties on his calendar; which one it was didn't matter, the same people were always present. Very rarely did anyone new come along.

"They speak of him in nothing but awe," another voice says, and Fuji realizes he doesn't know many of the people in the group; one of them he knows thanks to work; two others he knows by sight. The last one is unfamiliar to him, and it's interesting enough that he stops close enough to the group for all of them to see him.

The socializing ladder does the rest.

"Fuji, darling," the designer he's worked with exclaims. "How have you been? Looking as wonderful as always, when are you going to come back to me?" Niou's drunk enough that it shows, but not disgracefully; he leans in to brush a kiss across Fuji's cheek, and can manage to stay upright, but his arm snakes around Fuji's waist to keep steady. "You know Kirihara and Kajimoto, I am sure. This gentleman-" and he waves to the remaining member of the group, the one Fuji was unfamiliar with- "is Atobe Keigo."

"You're in the business?" Fuji asks Atobe, inclining his head toward Kirihara, who frowns and glares - Fuji predicts more wrinkles there - and to Kajimoto.

"Not yet," is Atobe's response.

"But you wish to be."

"In order to help a friend," Atobe tells him, and Fuji thinks he's going to say more, but Niou interrupts them.

"You should see the friend, darling. Gorgeous man. I told 'Tobe here it's a pity he's a designer and not a model. Think you can convince him to model?"

"I've already tried." Atobe snaps his fingers, and there's a waiter at his elbow in moments, drinks passed around. Fuji declines anything. He thinks for a moment about taking Niou's drink away, but something in Atobe's eyes says that would be a bad move.

He lets it go because he wants to know why Atobe's eyes are saying that.

-

"Give me your card and I'll pass it on, darling," Niou says, and Fuji has to keep his arm about the slim figure to keep him upright; but Atobe hands Niou his card and Fuji realizes: this is why. He's going to get this new designer, this friend of his, into the business any which way he possible can, underhanded or not.

"He must be quite a friend," Fuji murmurs, and properly tucks the card into Niou's pocket. He knows Niou; he'll remember all of this in the morning, and do exactly what he says. It just takes getting him drunk for him to agree to something like this. "Or quite a designer."

"The best," Atobe replies; mission accomplished, he turns and walks away, leaving a drunken Niou with a sober Fuji.

At least, Fuji reflects, he likes Niou.

-

Niou's got a splitting headache the next morning but it's not enough to distract him from anything. He's got appointments to keep, clothes to make, and most importantly, a meeting with the man himself, Sanada.

"You have to see my new line," he says, speaking before he's even thrown himself into the chair across from Sanada. "All muted colors in wild cuts, it'll be the new rage."

Sanada grunts.

"It might not be suitable for you, though." Niou narrows his eyes and looks at Sanada closely, shifting in the chair to see different angles, as if he doesn't know Sanada intimately. "You're too staid for them. But I have just the thing for you!" Atobe's arrangement works perfectly, and Niou suspects that's why Atobe approached him. He's been Sanada's favorite designer for a year and a half now, long enough that everyone's aware of it. But Niou's sharp; favorites don't last long in the industry - he's been the petted darling for a while now, and things are going to change.

Might as well be the one to shepherd that change.

"I'm not sure of the designer's name, but his clothes - and he - are heavenly. Beautiful. He likes black. You'll like him." Niou digs out the card, slides it across to Sanada. "He's like you, with that strong and silent thing."

"I'll keep him in mind," Sanada says, and picks up the card. He reads it, and Niou thinks he's just going to toss it over his shoulder, an action typical of Sanada. But instead of that, the muscles in Sanada's jaw spasm and his fingers clench the card tighter. "Who'd you get this card from?"

"Atobe Keigo. The financial backer of the designer." Niou shifts in the chair, this time to get comfortable. "You know him."

Sanada snorts and glares at him, which is Niou's signal to leave, but he doesn't listen.

"Were you dating him and he had some bitch fit about your tastes and you two parted ways?" he asks, instead.

"I'm not telling you how we know each other."

"You break my heart."

"And your new line will fix it. Go."

"He was your arch rival in design school?"

"Never went. Go."

"Ah, he tarnished your good name by saying you have the eye of an idiot and he deserves your job."

"Niou." Sanada's tone is dangerously low, and Niou respects that enough. He pushes himself from the chair, waving his hand.

"Fine, fine. But you can't keep secrets in this business for long."

-

"So good of you to call, Genichirou," Atobe drawls into the phone, not hiding the smirk in his voice.

"I heard about your designer, Atobe." Sanada chooses to ignore the smirk, the comment, Atobe himself, which is the easiest thing to do in the situation.

"Oh yes, my designer. Niou told you about him."

"Said something about black."

"I knew you'd like that. You've always been fonder of black than a fashionista has the right to be."

"Atobe," Sanada says, and his warning is in his voice: I can hang up and not call you back and leave your designer to languish in the pits of hell - amidst the commoners, away from the salons - if you don't shut the fuck up and get back to business.

"It's true, you are. But this one makes black fashionable. You'd like it."

"How soon can I see a line?"

Atobe glances at the clock and pauses to think. Tezuka's going to kill him, he knows, but clothes like Tezuka's deserve to be shown to the world. There are enough clothes in the small shop Tezuka works at to compose a line.

"This afternoon. One."

"Busy at one. Three."

That's going to cut it close, because Tezuka leaves at four; but Atobe hopes he can convince the designer to stay for longer, if necessary. "Fine."

-

"I told you, I don't want to do this," Tezuka tells him; he's frowning, in that way of his; Atobe's been around him long enough to learn the different facial expressions he's got.

"Sanada can make you rich."

"Money is unimportant."

"The world will see your clothes." It's probably the only thing that will work, and Atobe's taking a chance on it. He knows Tezuka doesn't do it for the fame, but because he loves clothes, loves designing, loves the material he works with. "You won't have to work with people who don't understand your visions or design clothes for simpletons who only care about being able to show off, not the clothes."

Tezuka's still wary, but his features soften a bit and he nods. "We'll see how it goes."

The clothes always do it.

-

"So wonderful to see you again, Sanada," Atobe greets, his face and voice perfectly sincere, almost too sincere, and Sanada rolls his eyes.

There's an empty back room, probably a fitting room, Sanada thinks, because that's all it could be in the tiny shop. He finds he's uncomfortable in it, thanks to the size. It's been years since he's been in some small shop; the designers he works with anymore have studios that take up much more space than necessary.

"We only have one model for now." Atobe's nervous, but trying hard not to let it show, and Sanada only grunts. It's a good thing Sanada is the way he is, Atobe thinks; anyone else would just make him more nervous. But Sanada's very nature reassures Atobe. "And I believe Tezuka's going to stay in the other room for now, to help him dress."

Sanada's answer is a quick nod, and he settles back in his chair, trying to block out Atobe's voice. He's often thought Atobe only talks to hear his voice. But then none of it matters, because the model is finally entering the room.

Sanada's seen thousands of good looking people, works with the people who define fashion and beauty for the rest of the world, has slept with some of the people the world only fantasies about, but he still feels shock when he sees the model.

"Walk the length of the room and turn, Yukimura," Atobe instructs, and Sanada watches as the model's eyes flash, before a bored look drops into place.

"I'm a model, Atobe. I know what to do." And he does, Sanada can tell from his walk, which seems innate to him; he knows how to turn and pivot and put in the right amount of sway into his hips.

Sanada stares, says nothing, and feels Atobe's eyes on him. It makes him happy he's the type who can hide his emotions and expressions easily.

Yukimura goes out and comes back in and leaves once again. Sanada never notices the clothes. It takes three trips, three times of seeing Yukimura for Sanada to actually notice what he's wearing. It's not easy to not stare at the model, and concentrate on the clothes, but at least the clothes are worthy of being on the model's figure.

In the end, it's the clothes that motivate him; extending an invitation to the fashion shows just for a model would be stupid and Sanada's not stupid. He could easily find Yukimura, help him find another designer to model for.

"There's a thirty minute segment left open in the afternoon, during Fashion Week," Sanada tells Atobe. They're waiting for Tezuka to join them, and once again, Atobe is nervous. "Not long, you'll need more models, and it's not a good time."

But it's something.


	2. a commotion of two

**A commotion of two**

Featuring Niou and Yagyuu

-

"You shouldn't be this drunk," Yagyuu murmurs into Niou's ear, supporting him with an arm around his waist. "We've got an exhibition tomorrow."

"We could be an exhibition right now." Niou laughs and drapes his arm around Yagyuu's neck, leaning closer, until his lips meet Yagyuu's neck. "Forget tomorrow, forget the clothes."

"Please don't forget the clothes." Yagyuu's voice is soft where Niou is loud, but Niou, for all his intoxicated state, can still hear him, understand. It's Yagyuu, after all. "They're quite important."

"But more interesting on than off."

"You're only saying that now because you're drunk."

"Oh but it's true." Niou's fingers slowly creep across Yagyuu's chest, until he finds the buttons keeping his shirt closed, and up, and on. Niou doesn't like them and struggles to undo them all. "I like clothes more when they're off than when they're on."

"Does that apply to everyone, or just to select people and clothes?"

"Select. Some people look much better in clothes than out of." Niou smirked, his lips finding Yagyuu's exposed collarbone. "But those people I do not care about. They're not wearing my clothes."

It's Yagyuu's turn to chuckle this time, as he attempts to guide Niou toward the apartment bulding that looms just to their side. Niou's feet drag, too busy with buttons to pay attention.

"We can forget tomorrow," Niou says again, his voice muffled; but Yagyuu understands, because it's Niou. "Forget tomorrow and the exhibition and the clothes."

"Just for now?"

"For now." Niou bites down, hard; Yagyuu doesn't gasp, but Niou feels the shudder in his muscles.

"The clothes are important."

"Only when I can take them off." The buttons are too much, and Niou pulls; buttons go flying.

"It always comes back to them."

"Of course. Did you expect anything less?" Niou pulls Yagyuu close, his lips still on Yagyuu's chest, and stumbles. There's nowhere to go but down.


	3. take and give

**Take and Give**

Featuring Yukimura, Fuji, Atobe, Sanada.

-

Funerals are horrible things, Yukimura thinks; there's too much thought of death and dying and everything associated with that aspect of life, something he's not looking forward to. And he doesn't want to be there.

"He was a good man," someone says - Yukimura's not sure who, exactly, it is up front talking, might be some priest or the late model's former manager, and it's all Yukimura can do to not roll his eyes.

Proper signs of respect, he intones in his mind; it would be bad manners to make it completely obvious how little one respects the dead. Not all dead, just this dead in general. Especially since eyes are still on him, instead of the idiot up front.

Yukimura shifts on his seat, and thinks: When I die, I certainly don't want a funeral as dull as this one, with hard wooden seats and propriety keeping everyone awake.

Next to him, he feels Fuji shift, and then Fuji's hand is sliding into his, and Yukimura can't help but smile. It's hardly appropriate, but not as bad as rolling his eyes or sighing loudly during the idiot's speech.

His fingers trace the heart line on Fuji's palm and Yukimura concentrate's on the person still droning on up front, rather than on Fuji's reactions. He's not going to get a visible one, he knows; Fuji's reaction to it all is to torment Yukimura just as thoroughly as Yukimura is tormenting him. Slight touches, fingertip tracings on his palm. They're playing an intricate game of footsies.

If this is what most people do at a funeral to keep themselves awake, no wonder why they go home and fuck; already he's feeling the arousal. At least he's better than most at hiding such things.

Fuji can tell though; Fuji notices the squeeze of his hand, the throb of his pulse in his hand. Had they been anywhere but a funeral, Yukimura thinks - knows - he and Fuji would have disappeared by now, to find peace and privacy.

"We'll miss him," the man says, and people begin to shift, move about, and Yukimura realizes it's the end. Not of the entire thing itself; just the ceremony. There's still entombment and the wake afterwards. He wants to skip them all, but he can't. Too many people are expecting him to show up at the wake, at least, to leave at this point.

"I have to go to the grave site." Fuji leans over to whisper in Yukimura's ear, giving his hand a final squeeze. "I'll see you later."

Yukimura's only response is a nod and a quick squeeze to Fuji's hand. He'll wait until Fuji is gone before leaving, until everyone going to the grave site has departed. He's got an appointment with Sanada and Atobe that he doesn't want to be late for, but neither does he want to stand out in the parking lot and talk to people for hours. Leaving late is the best option.

Atobe's got limos enough to spare; Yukimura doesn't bother to drive, none of Tezuka's exclusive models - he and Fuji and Kikumaru - do anymore. It makes the trip back to the building Sanada controls seem both shorter and longer than necessary. He doesn't brood, but the painfully boring funeral can't escape his mind.

For once, Yukimura looks forward to the meeting.

-

Sanada's office is all smooth leather and comfortable seating, a far cry from the stiffness of the church they funeral was held at. Yukimura sinks into a chair, keeping back a sigh of pleasure, and feels his body relax. There are eyes on him, so he does nothing improper or out of the ordinary, but anyone with an eye accustomed to his movements can tell he's relaxing.

"Well?" he asks, settling back, and folds one leg over the other, watches Sanada's eyes travel the length of his body. He knows Sanada wants him, it's written in every expression, gesture, and tone, and he also knows what a line he walks.

So Sanada watches, and Yukimura makes him wait.

"With everything happening, Atobe decided it was best to assign you a bodyguard," Sanada begins, before Atobe can begin. Atobe frowns, but doesn't interrupt. "Most models have one in their entourage."

And I don't even have an entourage, Yukimura wants to say, but doesn't, because he knows this has been coming for a while. The bodyguard, the personal assistant, the personal stylist, the hanger-ons. Its fashion, its fame: and he's over halfway to the top.

"Who is this bodyguard?"

"We're still deciding on that. We want to discuss hiring a personal stylist." Its Atobe talking this time, and it's kind of surprising; this is out of order. There's no mention of a personal assistant yet.

"I'll agree to the bodyguard, but no stylist."

"It'd be best for you to have someone who knows you-"

"What we've worked with so far has been fine." Yukimura glances at Atobe, narrows his eyes and smiles. It's a smile, not a baring of teeth, but there's a glitter in it that Atobe knows.

"If you're going to refuse a stylist, you have to get a personal assistant."

The road to fame, Yukimura thinks, to being on top of the world. It's what he wants, and what he'll get.

"As long as it is someone of my choosing."

Atobe and Sanada glance at each other; they weren't expecting that, Yukimura knows; they were expecting an argument and a refusal.

"Do you have someone in mind?"

Yukimura tosses a card onto the desk. "Yanagi Renji. He's the one I want. I'll have a name for a bodyguard tomorrow."

He leaves before they can say no, before they can stop him. If he's going to walk this road, it's going to be on his own terms.

-

The wake is dull, dreadfully dull; the champagne is warm, the food tasteless, the people talking about the recently deceased, and it's enough to cause Yukimura's head to pound. 

He's been there five minutes.

Greetings and chats and condolences first, then a break, and more chats with people who mean nothing and are nothing. A wake is a party is a job: it's all the same, when it comes down to it, and Yukimura's not sure why he even bothers.

It's something of a relief when he finds Fuji.


	4. interesting life

**Interesting Life**

Featuring Yanagi and Inui

-

"We ended up in an interesting industry," Inui mentions, when he sees Yanagi. 

"Hardly one most would have expected of us," Yanagi agrees, although he does not glance up at Inui, does not offer any sympathy about their current jobs and how they have strayed from what they once were.

It is a job, they both enjoy it. That is enough.

"My client wishes to schedule another meeting with yours," Inui says, after a pause. "Preferably on the night of the 29th."

"Your client is lucky," Yanagi tells him. "My client does not believe in planning anything on the 29th. It's an extra day to relax, leap years."

"My client is, unfortunately, busy until six. Dinner plans with people who are closely invested in his welfare. Seven would be the best time for him."

"I am sure seven shall be suitable." Yanagi studies the PDA he holds, rereading the notes he had jotted down earlier that morning. "My client also suggests a quiet evening spent together, perhaps enjoying a book or a movie." 

"I know of the perfect book for them to share." Inui grins, thinking about the book he's got sitting at his apartment, waiting to be wrapped for Fuji. "It is a long book, however; they will need approximately a week to get through the entire thing."

"My client is actually free until the fifth of the following month; he would not be opposed to blocking off his schedule, for a week of... relaxation."

"My client's schedule is clear until then, with the exception of a small photoshoot on the third. I believe he will welcome the chance to spend a week in the company of your client."

"I sall inform my client of that, he will be pleased to hear it." Yanagi pauses, makes a few notations on the PDA, and glances at Inui. "This might not be a normal world for us, but you can't deny the fact that it is interesting."


	5. inquires into a life

**Inquires into a Life**

Featuring Inui, Fuji, Yanagi, Yukimura

-

"Are you and Yukimura dating?" Inui asks. There is no calendar or notebook or PDA in front of him, but he doesn't need it for the time being: he mentally records everything Fuji says and does, vowing to write them down later.

"What makes you ask?" Fuji questions, instead of replying.

"You have been spending a lot of time together. More than usual for two models."

"It's a cutthroat world," Fuji agrees, and moves away before Inui can grill him further on the status of his relationship with Yukimura.

-

"Sadaharu is curious to know about your relationship with Fuji," Yanagi tells Yukimura. "He was asking me, complaining he gets no answers from his client."

"Do you think you'll get answers from me?" Yukimura doesn't look up, doesn't glance at Yanagi, but Yanagi knows what to expect.

"No."

"I'm glad my agent isn't one who would get frustrated over not knowing."

"I just speculate and extrapolate and wait until I get some confirmation."

"You should be focusing on planning my schedule, shouldn't you?" Yukimura does look up then, glancing at his agent. There's no seriousness to his words, but he and Yanagi play this game all the time. There will be a reply.

"Keeping track of your schedule is hardly a time consuming task," Yanagi tells him. "It's you who is hard to keep track of."

-

"Does Yanagi bother you with questions?" Fuji asks lightly, as they stand together behind a curtain, waiting for the cues to take the catwalk. There's no chance for Yukimura to reply, because Tezuka is gesturing to Fuji and he disappears.

"Renji knows he won't get any answers from me." Yukimura has time to speak only briefly when Fuji returns before he too, is being ordered to the catwalk, facing flashing lights, too many loud people, and a world that adores him. 

"That doesn't stop his curiosity though," Fuji returns, when Yukimura joins him once again.

"But that's what makes everything so fun."

Fuji smiles in response and says nothing. He agrees, only too well.


	6. black book

"My client wishes to see your client on the sixth of May, at twenty-one hundred hours, for cocktails and a late dinner

"My client wishes to see your client on the sixth of May, at twenty-one hundred hours, for cocktails and a late dinner." Yanagi glances up from his PDA; he'd only looked at it for appearances sake, already knowing the schedule by heart.

"My client is unfortunately busy until twenty-one fifteen," Inui responds, glancing down at the PDA he holds; like Yanagi, he only needed to glance for appearances. "However, if he is agreeable, that appointment can be shifted down to end at twenty-one hundred. He would be late still, simply not as late."

"I shall talk to my client and see if meeting at twenty-one thirty is acceptable, provided your client can prepare for dinner in thirty minutes."

"I assure you, my client can be ready in that amount of time. We will meet in five minutes to compare notes."

"Of course."

They rise at the same time, without bothering to exchange any pleasantries in parting, and cross to opposite sides of the cafe.

-

"Fuji is busy until twenty-one hundred," Yanagi begins, only to be broken by Yukimura's impatient sigh. Another person would find it disturbing, and start again, but Yanagi only smiles, and continues. "Provided he can alter an appointment. The earliest you will be able to meet is twenty-one thirty."

"I hate when you talk in twenty-four hour time," Yukimura tells him, stretching out his legs. "And really, is all of this necessary?"

"You wish to keep up appearances, do you not?" Yanagi asks, and pulls out his PDA, rearranging the time on the appointment. "Or rather, I should say - you wish to keep your schedule running smoothly so you do not miss any."

"Stop scheduling things so close together."

"You'd grow bored if I didn't."

"It's just frustrating when you have to get your manager to schedule a fuck with your boyfriend."

"Ah this will be sex," Yanagi says, and makes a few notations on the PDA. "Tell me how long it lasts so I can adjust your exercise for the next day. And I was not aware that Fuji was your boyfriend. I can get rid of the others now?"

"Renji, you're going to forget everything I just said and go reschedule my date with Fuji."

Yanagi chuckles and replaces the stylus in his PDA. "I shall let you know when you will be able to go out for cocktails and dinner. Eat light that evening, I'll cancel the trainer for the next day."

-

"Was your client agreeable to the changes?" Yanagi asks, as he slides into the chair across from Inui. Inui was there first, but only because his client was a phone call away, rather than across the room, demanding attention.

"He says twenty-one thirty is acceptable, but he wants to add that he will be eating heavily that afternoon, and perhaps simple cocktails would be the best."

"My client is eating light that day, so cocktails are fine. However, it should last quite a number of hours."

"That is exactly how my client wishes for it to happen. A number of hours, until say, oh eight hundred the next morning?"

"Oh eight hundred is cutting it close, but it shall work out."

"The last thing my client wishes to know is if cocktails shall happen at the Club Apple or the Hotel Demon?"

"Since the Hotel Demon is currently under renovation, it shall have to be the Club Apple."

"My client will be delighted to hear that. And he adds that he is looking forward to the evening."

"Mine is as well. The next two days shall pass too slowly for him."

"Surely with as many appointments as he has, they will fly by. That is what I assured my client of."

"It is acceptable encouragement. I will relay it back to my client."

"Send my wishes as well. Good evening." Inui inclines his head, as Yanagi does and they stand together, both departing, once again, to opposite sides of the cafe.


	7. a little taste of power

"Does everyone walk around nude here

"Does everyone walk around nude here?" Echizen asks and Tezuka glances around, looking at the models lingering in the back rooms, most in various states of undress, and shrugs. He's never cared what the models wear, in the dressing rooms and backstage areas, especially when this is simply a run-through for the backers.

"It doesn't matter what they're wearing back here, but what they're wearing on the catwalks."

One model walks past them, dressed in enough tiny scraps of nothing to cover something, and Echizen stares at him, a bored look on his face but something odd in his eyes.

"Show them an inch of flesh and they're drooling," Fuji says, appearing at Tezuka's side from nowhere. "Always the same."

"Wasn't drooling," Echizen mutters and scowls, and Fuji chuckles at him.

"You were staring."

Before Echizen can get another word in, Fuji disappears, and Echizen's left looking at his nude body walking away; Fuji doesn't even make the pretense of wearing clothing, not when they are busy preparing. Tezuka notices that Echizen's eyes are on Fuji. Staring.

"They walk differently back here then when they are on the catwalk," Echizen mentions. "Looser, more natural."

There's a thousand things Tezuka can tell him about why that is so, but it makes little difference; if Echizen's going to flourish, he'll learn in his time. Instead, Tezuka reaches over to a side table and picks up a strip of cloth, studded with pins, and drapes it across Echizen's neck.

"Start by altering Yukimura's clothing. Twenty minutes until we go on."


	8. moods never change

Niou grins and Yukimura chuckles; it's the biggest rise he can get from the model, each time, so he accepts it

Niou grins and Yukimura chuckles; it's the biggest rise he can get from the model, each time, so he accepts it. He doesn't wish to, but it's a losing challenge with Yukimura.

"Still won't leave Tezuka?" he asks, and that makes the smile fade from Yukimura's face, and then reappear, sharper than before.

"I like Tezuka."

"You sound like a faithful housewife, waiting for her husband to return home."

"Hardly." Yukimura snorts. "I'd not even define myself as faithful."

"Oh but you are. Sticking to Tezuka like you do. The sex is just sex, and no one expects anyone to be faithful in this business. But you're a rare one, refusing other jobs." Nious face loses it's smirk, and he drops his voice. "I can make you the shining star of the world. A rich man. Give you everything."

"You forget, Niou," Yukimura tells him, and reaches up to grab his chin. "I'm already rich, I've got everything I need, and I'm well on the way to becoming a star."

"With Tezuka'as clothes."

"I never expected you to be jealous." Yukimura chuckles at that, and whatever reply Niou has is lost in the force of Yukimura's kiss.

-

"No, no, no." Niou's voice doesn't rise, doesn't change at all, but everyone in the workroom can feel his displeasure. "This is fucking crap."

"But-" someone tries to protest; there's no point, however, because Niou's already ripping the shirt from the mannequin and tossing the material down. "Try another fabric. It's supposed to flow. That crap wasn't flowing."

He stalks out of the workroom just as quickly as he entered and back into his studio. Everyone on the floor can hear the door slam.

"I wonder what crawled up his ass and died," Marui mutters from the hall, steps from the studio door. Niou hadn't even noticed him. He rolls his eyes and turns away; there's always another day to visit the temperamental bastard.

-

"Still as moody today as you were yesterday?" Marui asks, the following day. He leans against the table Niou's behind, working on a sketch, blocking the artist's light, not that Marui cares.

"Yep," Niou replies and reaches up to push Marui aside. "You're getting fat."

"You're just too used to working with anorexic models."

"They're not anorexic. They've just got fast metabolisms."

"Yeah and my hair is natural."

"You just brighten it up every now and then."

"Whatever, I'm not here to discuss my dieting habits or your models. I'm here to find out the latest."

Niou looks up then, frowning; sweeps his arm across the table, and Marui watches in fascination as the papers go flying. "There's another newcomer to the stage."

"What's so big about that? There are newcomers every season."

"This one's endorsed by Tezuka."

That's all that Marui needs to piece together everything; the hush-hush atmosphere of Tezuka's studio the past few days, Niou's mood.

"He's got to be good, then. To have Tezuka backing him."

"He's shit." Niou slams his fist against the table. "Crap. His clothes are good, but that's it. He doesn't understand, isn't doing it for any other reason than to prove he can."

"So he's not a pretentious designer who thinks his work is the shit. Big-fucking-deal, Niou."

"You need to see him, Marui; see his designs." Niou shakes his head. "It's a big-fucking-deal. In fact, it's a huge-fucking-deal. Tezuka I didn't mind, Tezuka I respect. But this damn brat comes unto the scene as if he owns it and isn't expecting any challenges."

"Oh, boo-hoo Niou. You can't tell me you're getting pissed because some new designer is trying to usurp your spot."

"He's not going to usurp my spot." Niou frowns. "But I can't stand."

"Then take him down a notch. Show him who is who."

Niou stares at Marui for a moment and leans back, grinning. "You know, Marui, you're right; that's exactly what I should do."

"Glad I good be of service."

"Tell me, got any ideas on how sway Yukimura to my side?"

That question, futile and pointless, makes Marui roll his eyes. He doesn't even bother to reply to it.

"I'll see you at the show tomorrow."

"Fuck, it's tomrorow already?" Niou scrambles up from his chair and grabs a piece of paper from the floor. "Gotta go, Marui. Work to do. Make sure to get lots of good pictures of my pieces. They're always stunning."

"Stop playing up your ego, ass."

"Love you too, darling."

-

Niou slips backstage. It's easy to do because even if he's not Sanada's favorite anymore, he was once. And he's still a noted designer in the world market, and it makes people respect him.

They really shouldn't.

Security thinks he needs time with his designs, to perfect some touch here or add something there. It's hardly the truth, but it works for him. And there's enough people wandering in and out that they won't even think to question him.

Echizen's in the middle of the afternoon. Bad time, short show, but worth it. He'll get noticed. He's going to get noticed no matter what. But Niou's going to make sure it doesn't go over as well as it should.

All of his clothes are there, lined up perfectly, in order of what will be shown. And Niou grabs an item at large, and sees: this is just a copy.

Certainly, a copy with original touches, but it's still just a copy. There's no disguising that fact; these were clothes that have been seen before, before their times, but things any good designer would know by heart.

Chuckling at this point, he thinks, would make him a very poor copy of a very pathetic criminal. He's above that.

Niou smirks instead.

It just takes a seam ripper, a needle and some thread, and a few gaudy ribbons, but in the end, not quite half of the clothes are altered. Seams ripped, threads hanging down, buttons removed, original touches altered. It's satisfying work, to take a line that's only a rip-off and show the world what it is.


	9. only a small party

Atobe plucks the drink from Yukimura's hand and replaces it with a small vial

Atobe plucks the drink from Yukimura's hand and replaces it with a small vial. "Have some cocaine instead; you don't want to get fat."

Yukimura holds up the vial, looking at a light through it, and shakes the white powder. "You're encouraging drug use, Atobe. What would Tezuka say if he knew such a thing?"

"Tezuka won't find out, though." Atobe looks at the model standing next to him, and finishes off the drink he holds, Yukimura's martini.

"Oh I could go tell him you're encouraging me to do drugs to maintain my figure," Yukimura says. "I am sure he would believe me, especially with evidence." And again, he shakes the little vial, although Atobe notices he is no longer looking at it, but at something - isomeone/i - else.

"But you won't." Once he realizes who Yukimura is staring at, he smirks; there's no need to worry. It does make his hackles rise for a different reason.

"Not now. And I won't need this." Yukimura slips the vial into Atobe's coat pocket, pats it. "I know a better way to burn calories."

-

Sanada knows beauty, knows looks: he's the editor-in-chief of a magazine that decides such things. He's the voice of fashion; he works with people who are the worlds most good-looking.

And Yukimura still manages to bring him to his knees.

-

"People are so shallow," Fuji muses, and turns his head, smiles over his shoulder. The cameras go wild.

Tezuka looks at him and says nothing; Fuji's answering smile tells him enough.

-

"Che," Echizen mutters and drowns the drink he holds. There's no cap on his head to tug and pull down and hide behind, and he wishes for it, briefly. iThis is stupid, this is pointless, why the hell am I even here?/i

"Che is right, kid," Marui says, from behind him. "But you're a part of it, so you might as well get used to it."

"If you think this is stupid, why bother?" It's the longest sentence he's spoken all night, and to someone who will only be a slight part of his future - as much as a photographer can be.

"Because it's fun." Marui grins at him, and disappears before Echizen can ask anymore. Pointless, he thinks.

Hopeless, Marui thinks.

-

"Yukimura and Sanada," Atobe tells Fuji later, when he finds the model alone.

"I know."

"It doesn't bother you?"

"I think it bothers you more than it bothers me." Fuji smiles at him, and Atobe turns away before Fuji's reads anything in his eyes.


	10. addictions of the connoisseurs

"What made you decide to start photographing pretty people

"What made you decide to start photographing pretty people?" Niou reaches over to nudge Marui with his elbow as they watch the endless parade of people leaving and returning, a constant flux of colors and patterns and people. Niou lights a cigarette and takes a drag, passes it over, only to have it refused.

"Attempting to quit," Marui says, and blows a bubble with the gum in his mouth. "It's fucking hard when you're around a bunch of waking ashtrays."

"Give up the people too?" Niou asks, returning the cigarette to his lips. "Then you won't be tempted."

Marui snorts and shakes his head. "I think the people are more of an addiction than the cigarettes."

"Was that why you started? The people? Think you can find a little piece of heaven among all of these brightly shining beings?"

"Heaven? Here?" Marui shakes his head again. "You wouldn't find heaven here. Only hell."

Niou chuckles at that, and looks at two people who have stepped from the crowd, seeking what little peace they can find in darkened corners. He thinks they look like Fuji and Yukimura, slim and supple, but most models are; he doesn't really care. "Hell is a fitting word for this place, these people."

"It's more of a drug than anything," Marui admits. "Even to those of us who have spent too much time in it and know all the little petty secrets and the truth to the rumors."


	11. know your enemies

"Does Fuji know your family

"Does Fuji know your family?" Atobe asks, when he joins Yukimura on the balcony. "Do you know his? Do you know anything about each other beyond this world?" Atobe knows Yukimura understands, would understand even if there was not a party surrounding them.

"What is there beyond this world?" Yukimura asks, and flashes Atobe a smile, one not laced with malice or playfulness, and Atobe remembers why it is that Yukimura is a model, why the world - the one important enough to generate Atobe's interest - is seemingly at Yukimura's feet, and it makes him hate Yukimura even more.

"Hobbies and casual interests that consume your time when you are not busy showing off your body." Atobe can remember a world beyond this, because these things were once not even a part of his imagination. "Those things must be beyond your scope, considering your reaction. You'll end up old and alone, Yukimura."

"You make us sound like whores, Atobe," Yukimura mocks, and his smile gains that edge. Atobe wonders if he does it on purpose, if Yukimura knows what that smile does to him. "We're not showing off our bodies, but the clothes."

"You don't do it for the clothes," Atobe snaps. "You do it to show off your body."

Yukimura only laughs and moves to slip past Atobe, back to the bright lights and loud music and crush of people, but pauses before he goes far.

"Syuusuke has an older sister and a younger brother." Yukimura reaches out to pick a piece of invisible lint from Atobe's shoulder. "His brother is finally starting to like me, and his sister already does. Don't worry about me ending up alone - it should be your future you concern yourself with."


	12. an image to burn beneath your eyelids

**An Image to Burn Beneath Your Eyelids**

Featuring Tezuka, Fuji, Yukimura.

-

"The studio should be empty," Tezuka hears, in the hall outside of his office. It's easily identifiable as Fuji, not only in the tones but in the very words - no one else would be sneaking around the studio-

"Tezuka's still here."

-with the exception of Yukimura.

Tezuka reaches up and pulls off his glasses, pinching the bridge of his nose. He's been focusing on a design for hours; perhaps a break is a good idea. He reaches for the door, intending to find his models, but stops.

In the hall, there's no voices or footsteps, which makes him frown; no doors had opened to indicate that Fuji and Yukimura disappeared into one of the rooms, and there's no reason for them to simply be istanding/i in the hall.

Quietly, Tezuka continues, opening the door, and looks outside; there's Fuji and Yukimura, leaning against the door to the largest of the dressing rooms. Tezuka assumes that was their destination, never reached, because they are entangled in each other: bodies pressing, lips meeting.

Tezuka stares, and thinks, knows, he should look away, but something keeps his eyes fixated on them. There's not a reason he can give, for he doesn't know why he wants to stare. He's seen both Yukimura and Fuji in various states of undress, from covered in clothes to completely nude, and neither of them do anything for him then.

He's also working then, his mind tells him, and for now - he's not.

Across the length of the hall, Tezuka sees Fuji's hands slide up Yukimura's shirt, and the kiss is broken. Fuji's struggling, almost enjoyable, with the buttons on Yukimura's shirt - Tezuka's mind identifies it as one of his own, three seasons back - and Yukimura attaches his lips to Fuji's neck, all while attempting to find the doorknob that will let them into the dressing room.

"That's going to leave a mark." Fuji chuckles, and Tezuka realizes he's missed something, knows what it is when Yukimura draws back and Fuji turns slightly, so Tezuka can see the red mark in the hollow of his collarbone.

"You know the power of make-up," Yukimura tells him, and finally finds the doorknob, twisting it and letting the door swing open. His shirt falls off his shoulders as he walks in; neither pay attention to it.

Neither think to close the door.

Tezuka waits until he thinks they will once again be engrossed in each other, and walks across the hall, moving quietly. There was no need to, because Fuji and Yukimura are too busy focusing on each other to notice him, or so it seems.

Fuji's tongue is doing something to Yukimura's nipples that Tezuka can't see, thanks to the fall of the model's hair. All he can tell is that Yukimura is sighing and arching, looking like an indulgent cat, and once again, Tezuka can't take his eyes off the bodies in front of him. And when Yukimura hisses and arches, and Fuji chuckles against his chest, Tezuka starts wishing he was closer, or that Fuji's hair wasn't so long, just so he can see.

Fuji's still in too much clothing; Yukimura, at least, seems to think of it that way, because he wraps his legs around the body on top of his, and flips them. For the first time, Tezuka realizes that this is something familiar he's witnessing: they've done this before, he's sure of it.

He watches Yukimura's fingers push up the material of Fuji's shirt, until it's bunched under his arms, exposing Fuji's pale chest; and Tezuka continues to watch as Yukimura leans down, bypassing any sensitive chest areas, to dip his tongue into Fuji's navel and continue lower.

Yukimura's notoriously hard to actually dress; he smiles and pleads with that too-innocent look of his that he can't reach certain zippers or that his fingers are sore and the buttons slip; it's usually Tezuka himself who ends up helping the model into anything he's putting on for shows. But as he watches now, Yukimura teases the buttons of Fuji's jeans with his teeth and tongue, prying them open, and doing the same to the zipper.

At least his mouth his talented, Tezuka thinks, and abruptly stops that train of thought before it can grow, and concentrates on the way the two look rather than on Yukimura's mouth. It's a good thing, because Yukimura slides up again, for another kiss, and Tezuka doesn't concern himself with watching them kiss, but rather how their bodies fit together and they move, backs arching to press closer together. And Tezuka sees Fuji's nails rack down Yukimura's bare back.

That explains the scrapes he often has.

Fuji's hand slips between their bodies, and quickly undoes the zipper to Yukimura's pants; he manages easily enough, and Tezuka suspects his earlier struggle with Yukimura's shirt was pretense, simply to drag the night along. And Fuji is the one to flip them this time, straddles Yukimura's hips, and murmurs something low enough that Tezuka can't hear it. There's a quick nod, and something else spoken so low he still can't hear, and then a flurry of movement: Fuji standing to fully shed his pants, Yukimura lifting his hips to push his off, and then they're pressing against each other once again.

There is something odd about this, Tezuka thinks, but he doesn't focus on the feeling, mostly because he notices Fuji sucking on his fingers, and he knows only too well what that means.

Yukimura lifts his leg, settles it on Fuji's shoulder, and Tezuka glances at his face once, then Fuji's, and decides looking at their faces is too much of a risk. He settles on their bodies instead.

With no lube, even with saliva, Tezuka's sure Fuji sliding in a finger has to hurt. Especially when a second finger joins, with little time given to Yukimura to relax. But Yukimura betrays nothing, except for a slight moan that doesn't seem to be as painful as Tezuka suspects it has to feel.

The rush of it seems odd to him; he knows them both, well enough to understand behaviour patterns, and neither are the type to rush something. He's not going to question it for now.

Fuji's fingers are gone and he's grasping Yukimura's leg to steady himself, and this is what Tezuka's known was coming since he saw them kissing in the hall; what he won't admit to himself, but what he wants to see. And so he steps forward quietly, and thinks that they are both focusing so firmly on what is happening that they won't notice him. But Yukimura meets his eyes, and then Fuji turns and does the same, and Tezuka's frozen in place, listening to the sounds of two of his models fucking each other on the floor.


	13. in your mind, lies

**In Your Mind, Lies**

Featuring Tezuka, Fuji, Yukimura.

-

"Oh dear." Fuji stares at the drop of blood that's splashed to the carpet and smiles. "Clumsy fingers."

Tezuka grabs a tissue from the table and passes it to Fuji, who makes a big deal of a pinprick on the side of his hip, daubing at it with the tissue and pressing down, "to make sure it won't bleed anymore," he assures Tezuka. "I will be okay in a moment."

"I'll get you a bandage," Tezuka tells him and leaves the room, even though there are a number of people around who are there specifically to run around. But the room is pressing around him, Fuji's presence overwhelming, and a retreat is in order.

-

"I thought you were going to be busy this afternoon with Fuji," Yukimura says, the moment Tezuka walks into his office, and Tezuka wonders if he will ever be free - of Fuji, of Yukimura, of Atobe, of the position, of the clothes, of all of it.

There are times, he thinks, when he misses the ease that was life before Atobe walked into his shop.

But there are still the clothes, and Tezuka forces his eyes back to Yukimura, who is spinning lazily in the chair behind the desk.

"Fuji is bleeding," he tells Yukimura; it's almost tempting to toss a dozen words at Yukimura about Fuji, including 'your boyfriend' and 'dying' but Tezuka knows he would never: there is too much in him to say such things, ever.

"I'm sure he'll be fine," Yukimura says. "There is no ambulance, no one panicking." Yukimura stops spinning around, leans back in the chair to grin up at Tezuka. "You would not be strolling in here so calmly if he was in any real danger."

"I am looking for the first-aid kit," Tezuka continues, ignoring Yukimura and his words as best as he can.

"You know your office better than I do," Yukimura says. "Although I remember seeing it in one of the cabinets."

"I know where it is," Tezuka says. "Why are you here?"

"Renji scheduled nothing for me this afternoon, and with the two people I'd like to spend time with busy - with each other, nonetheless - it is quite boring."

Tezuka ignores him, for the moment, and fetches the first-aid kit from one of the cabinets in his office, the heavy weight of the kit helping to ground him.

"Go see Sanada," he tells Yukimura, and wants to continue, but doesn't; what he wants to add would be even worse than his earlier thoughts, and Tezuka has to wonder where the anger in his his welling from.

"Maybe-" Yukimura begins, but Tezuka doesn't stay to listen.


	14. only a thank you

**Only a Thank You**

Featuring Yukimura, Sanada.

-

"You had to have Oshitari interview me for the magazine, didn't you?" Yukimura asks from the door. Sanada doesn't jump, although he is startled; but it wouldn't do to show the reaction and instead, he simply leans back, and looks across the office to the model standing in the door. "Not one of your other writers? Any of them would have been fine."

"It was a special article," Sanada responds, dropping his pen on the surface of his desk. "Did he offend you?"

"He's got lecherous eyes." Yukimura steps inside, closes the door behind him, and walks across the office.

"Half of the people you know have lecherous eyes."

"Ah but they're not trying to hide their lecherousness, and doing it as unsuccessfully as Oshitari," Yukimura tells Sanada. He bypasses the chairs in front of Sanada's desk to slip around the black desk that dominates the room, in between the edge of the desk and Sanada's chair - and Sanada himself. "Besides, I was secretly hoping it would have been you."

"I don't write articles."

"Not even exceptions, every now and then?"

"No."

"So strict," Yukimura murmurs, and slides his hands around Sanada's shoulder, over the nape of his neck. "I owe you a favor."

"You don't owe me anything." Sanada's voice lowers and beneath Yukimura's hands, stiffens. But it doesn't stop his own hands from going to Yukimura's waist, pulling him in closer. Yukimura's smiling, nothing out of the ordinary, and doesn't even blink when Sanada pushes him down.


	15. habits hardly change

**Habits Hardly Change**

Featuring Sanada, Atobe.

-

"Still obsessed, Genichirou?" Atobe asks. He knows the answer, is sure of it, because he can be nothing but right. "With the pretty boys and their dead eyes and cynical smiles."

"What do you want, Keigo?" Sanada demands; he ignores the question on principle. Atobe has no need of a response to such things.

Besides, he is sure Atobe saw Yukimura in the hall, only moments ago.

"This office is boring." Continuing to press his earlier question would help nothing. It's not like he doesn't know, anyway. "You need me to brighten it up."

"You would not brighten anything up," Sanada mutters and scowls; the scowl is meant for Atobe, even if it is directed at the top of the desk.

"You have terrible taste-"

"No worse than yours," Sanada mutters under his breath again, barely loud enough to be heard. He's not surprised when Atobe ignores him and continues talking.

"-Hardly the things you need in the office of a fashion magazine editor. Traditional and boring clashes with new and modern."

"It is my office." Sanada leans back and glances around, taking in his office. Heavy and dark, as traditional as Atobe insisted. "I like it the way it is."

"Never changing, Sanada." Atobe smirks and moves in closer, running his fingers across Sanada's shoulder. "Stubborn and stupid and blind. And those are only your good points."

"You're just as stubborn and even more blind."

"Hardly." Atobe rolls his eyes at Sanada and withdraws his hand. "I'm not the one with a taste for pretty boys that will be my downfall."


	16. an artistic idea

**An Artistic Idea**

Featuring Yukimura, Yanagi.

-

Yukimura looks from the computer screen to Yanagi. "He really has it in his mind to do a photoshoot like that?" he asks, amusement lacing his tone, and clicks on the picture, enlarging a section of it so he can study the lounging nymphs a little closer. "He just wants to see us cavorting around nude."

"Oshitari has many good defenses of his proposed idea." Yanagi folds his arms over his chest and begins to recite. "It is a new concept for the magazine, a tribute to an artist and his works, a throw back to older times."

"He just wants to see the models lounging around nude." Yukimura snorts and closes out the picture, leaning back in his chair. "Did Sanada approve of it?"

"I believe Sanada is currently occupied with other business," Yanagi answers. "Oshitari is trying to get people to back him on the idea before going to Sanada."

"So he wants us to lounge around nude for pictures only he will see."

Yanagi's lips twitch and he inclines his head. There is no way Sanada will approve of a nude picture as the centerpiece for his magazine.

Yukimura grins suddenly, unexpectedly, and Yanagi tenses, waiting for what will come next.

"Too bad I dislike Oshitari. It would be quite an entertaining shoot."


	17. just searching

**Just Searching**

Featuring Tezuka, Echizen, cameos of others

-

Tezuka stares and Echizen has to resist the urge to fidget; he's never felt so uncomfortable under anyone's gaze before, because he's never cared about an opinion before. And if this were anyone but Tezuka, he thinks he wouldn't care.

Rather, Echizen knows he wouldn't care.

"It is suitable," Tezuka says, but there's something in his tone that hints at displeasure, at disapproval. "It is simply not you."

He says no more; Fuji is at the door and Echizen doesn't ask, because that guarded look Tezuka wears when Fuji or Yukimura are around appears on his face.

He'll ask later.

-

Echizen stares at Kirihara, draped in something he's designed and wonders what Tezuka means when he says it's not him. He can not see himself in the clothes he designs and doesn't think it is important.

Yukimura walks past him, stops at Kirihara's side, and says something into his ear, and Echizen's eyes are drawn to the model. He doesn't stare at the body, because he has no interest, but the clothes: this is Tezuka at his best. And when Echizen looks at Yukimura, or any of the models, clothed in professional black or slinky grey or astute blue, he sees not them or the clothes even.

He sees Tezuka.

And he wonders, staring at Yukimura talking to Kirihara, if that is what Tezuka means.

"You're going to give yourself a headache, staring like that," Fuji says into his ear, and Echizen doesn't jerk but it takes willpower. "Should I be offended, you staring at Seiichi so intently?"

"Che," Echizen mutters, and ducks away. He meets Tezuka's eyes, but looks away from him just as quickly as he escapes Fuji.

-

That night, before the shops close, when he should be at a party thrown in honor of the show earleir that afternoon, Echizen stops at one and buys a cheap, simple shirt Tezuka's designed. He wants the opportunity to study, to regard it, to figure out how Tezuka makes it his own. Wants to see if he can copy it, twist it, change it, add something to his designs.

Echizen's phone rings, but he ignores it, assumes it will be Atobe or Tezuka or someone else, demanding him to show up to the party he's beyond fashionably late to.

He returns to the hotel room instead, his home for the night and the previous night and probably the next night, and digs out the shirt, intent upon studying it. His hands ghost over the fabric, wonder what Tezuka does differently than everyone else, because even when Echizen is sitting in a darkened room, the only light shining from his bedside lamp, he can see Tezuka in the shirt he holds.

The little kit he cares everywhere, like any designer, of scissors and pins and needles and string, remains tucked away for the night. He can't take his hands or his eyes off of the shirt he bought, even when he wraps it around his cock and strokes.


	18. it's a small world

**It's A Small World**

Featuring Yukimura, Yanagi, Jackal, Atobe, Sanada, Tezuka; various others.

"Tomorrow it's Milan, two days later, Japan." Yanagi speaks softly, low enough that he could be talking to himself, but Yukimura hears him, mostly because he's listening for it. "Then Australia. Then back to New York."

"A week and four different countries," Yukimura comments, his mouth twisting. He glances to Kuwahara, on his left. "Are you used to travelling this often?"

"Not like this," Jackal responds.

"A new place every other day."

"Adjusting to the time zones is the hardest," Yanagi murmurs. "But it's manageable. In Milan, there's a show and a photo shoot. In Japan, two shows and a party-"

"The same thing, over and over again. Who will be there?"

"In Milan, Tezuka and Atobe-"

"They're constants," Yukimura tells him. "I know they'll be there. Who else?"

"What makes you think I would know?" Yanagi asks, lifting his eyes from the papers he holds.

Yukimura simply stares back at him. "Renji."

Yanagi's lips curl into a half-smile. "Echizen and Niou in Milan; Kikumaru, Kirihara, Kajimoto. Ohtori-"

"The new model?"

"Yes, the new one. He'll be there. No one else of any importance, as for the models. Oshitari is covering it for Sanada."

"So I can expect to have a pervert staring at me," Yukimura says. "What a thing to look forward to."

-

"You look divine," Atobe says and drapes an arm around Yukimura's shoulder. "Is it a new design, Tezuka?"

Yukimura shoots Tezuka a quick glance, and tries to shrug Atobe's arm off, fails and finally moves away.

"Yes," Tezuka says, and looks away from Atobe and Yukimura; he avoids looking at Yukimura a lot anymore, because every time he looks at Yukimura, he thinks he sees Fuji just beyond, and remembers that night. And when he is watching a model dress, it isn't a good idea to remember what he looks like, getting fucked.

Tezuka clears his throat and shoves a folder at Atobe, nods to the door. Atobe might be just as vested in the clothing, in the models, as Tezuka is himself, but Tezuka never tolerates the man behind the scenes.

-

"Missing Fuji?" Atobe asks, when he finds Yukimura half-hidden behind a horrendous plastic green plant. Tacky, he thinks, but doesn't say it, and instead joins Yukimura.

"As much as you are missing Genichirou," Yukimura responds; he smirks when Atobe frowns, although the looks on both faces are quickly cleared.

"Then you must not be missing him at all." It's a lie, and they both know it, but Atobe refuses to admit that he might miss someone and Yukimura doesn't refute him, although there's a slight smile hovering about his lips that Atobe doesn't like.

He can't say anything about it though, because Yukimura's interrupting him, and he forgets what he was going to say about the smile when he hears what Yukimura has to say.

"Oshitari is on the prowl tonight," he mentions and nods to the man he refers to, halfway across the room. "If you're missing Genichirou, he might be a good substitute."

Atobe glares at Yukimura, feels his lips tighten and his jaw clench without even thinking about it, poised to say something, but he can't get the words out, and in the moment it takes for him to recover his composure, Yukimura's gone.

-

"He's just going to use you," Atobe snaps at Sanada, who only shrugs and goes back to shuffling papers. "Use you to get famous and then kick you to the ground."

"If he's using me, then I am using him," Sanada tells Atobe, and for a moment there, Atobe's forgotten about Sanada's preferences for the pretty boys, with their wicked smiles and untouchable attitudes.

"You're an idiot," Atobe snaps, and stomps off, but not before he hears Sanada's parting words.

"You've called me worse."

-

"He's using you and Genichirou and probably Fuji," Atobe tells Tezuka, grabbing the bottle of water the designer is holding. "You'll regret using him as a model one day."

Tezuka's even worse than Sanada, Atobe thinks, because he simply walks away, says nothing. And Yukimura is there, smiling at him again; this time a smile too sharp and knowing.

His new bodyguard and his manager are behind him and Atobe doesn't even acknowledge them, just continues staring at Yukimura, as the model walks past.

"I do hope to see you in Australia," Yukimura mentions. "Maybe a few more rounds and you'll win the word play."


	19. snow on the mountain

**Snow on the Mountain**

Featuring Yukimura, Fuji, Tezuka.

-

"This much snow is odd," Yukimura says, as he stares around him at the snow-covered landscape. He's seen snow, quite a bit of snow, but never this much, unbroken by nothing but some trees, and a log cabin close by.

"Just think of it like another desert," Fuji says, and smiles cheerily at everyone around him. He's the one who seems to adjust best to the extremes in temperature. There's a wicked gleam in his eyes.

Tezuka makes a mental note to never use Yukimura or Fuji in any photo shoot that involves lots of extreme climes; Yukimura, he thinks, is too fragile to withstand the changes - and even as Tezuka thinks that, he thinks that Yukimura will kill him for the thought - and Fuji finds too many interesting things.

He sets his mind to not think about the cactus Fuji took home from the desert.

"And to think," Fuji says. "We will be wearing close to nothing here. Tezuka, you have your styles all confused."

Tezuka thinks that not thinking about the cactus will do nothing for him. He sets his mind to ignoring Fuji, as well.

There's no surprise when something hits his back, and he turns to see a smiling Fuji. Who insists, "It wasn't me," and points.

Yukimura hastily pouts, and drops the snowball he's holding.


	20. winter nights

**Winter Nights**

Featuring Tezuka, Fuji, Yukimura; cameos of a good portion of the cast.

-

"We're snowed in," Tezuka announces, and waits for the room to fall to pieces around him. From the chattering voices, he can make out a few distinct sounds - Atobe's voice, rising in consternation, insisting he will find a way to leave, people owe him favors; Kawamura's stuttering about how he wasn't expecting that, and Fuji's chuckle.

Yukimura's silent, and when Tezuka glances at him, he can see the slight gleam in Yukimura's eyes. Inui and Yanagi are not in the room; probably hiding, Tezuka thinks, but they were both prepared for the possibility of more snow, and neither needs his announcement.

"Do they know how long we'll be here?" Fuji asks him, sliding up unexpectedly, and Tezuka reaffirms his decision to never work with extreme climates.

"No. The storm is expected to last a couple more days. After it ends, it will still be a few days before the roads are clear and safe enough for us to leave."

"What a shame," Fuji says, and his smile says he doesn't think it's a shame at all. "There's only one fireplace here. I was hoping for some privacy."

-

"You might want to avoid the main room," Tezuka tells Kawamura, as they walk upstairs together. Kawamura looks at him with a question in his eyes, but asks nothing.

"You shouldn't, Tezuka," Yukimura calls from the room they just left, and dissolves into laughter. Tezuka's back stiffens, and he ignores the look Kawamura gives him. He's not going to respond, not going to say anything, not going to react.

-

By midnight, the clouds break, but the wind is strong enough that it's going to bring in another storm, Tezuka's sure; more days of being trapped in this cabin with these people - ones he likes well enough, but ones he can't trust himself around.

For a moment, he thinks about getting up to make himself some tea; the wind is loud enough that he won't be getting back to sleep any time soon, and there's no need to be asleep at a certain time, because he has no need to be awake early, or at a decent hour; the next few days are his alone. Theirs. That's why, he thinks, Yukimura was amused, and explains Fuji's chuckle. More time, together; Tezuka knows their plans take them apart, after this shoot.

He pushes the blankets off, and sits up, but curls back up once his feet touch his cold slippers; not even the promise of warm tea is enough to pry him from bed, when it is freezing and the chill seeps through layers of socks and slippers. There is nothing wrong with staying in bed; if the wind suddenly dies, he can take advantage of the peace and sleep.

Tezuka thinks about braving the cold, being stronger than it, and going to the main room of the cabin, where the fireplace is, curling up there. But Fuji's words hit again, and he doesn't; sees seen it once, gotten caught and spent weeks trying to work up the courage to look at his models again. The images still haunt him, at night, when his bed is cold and the loneliness is sharper than usual.

He closes his eyes firmly, and starts counting backwards from 100, because he doesn't want to think about it, not then. He curls his hand around his pillow, so he's not tempted.

Outside his room, a board creeks, and he wonders if it's just the house settling, until it's followed by soft laughter, the sound of which he knows only too well. And in bed, Tezuka shifts, and curls up on his side, hands firmly clenching his pillow, until one lets go, and lands on the soft material of the flannel sheets.

iIt's the wind, only the wind,/i he repeats mentally, and ignores the twitch of his cock when he hears laughter again, this time right in front of his door. Ignores his hand, slipping down the bed, sliding closer to his body. But he can't ignore the chill of his fingers when his fingers push up his shirt, and slip beneath the waistband of his pajama pants. He does bite back on the gasp, though, and controls the shiver.

This time, the laughter seems to come from inside the room, all around him, both Yukimura's and Fuji's, and Tezuka squeezes his eyes tighter, so he can't see, curls his free arm over his head, so he can't hear, and wraps his hand around his cock.

His fingers aren't much warmer, but warming up, and his cock stiffens further, hot and heavy in his hands, and although the first stroke is tentative, as if he's a teenager again, still unfamiliar with his body and struggling to figure out what to do, it's enough to send a shiver of pleasure through his body.

Nothing's helping block out the sounds; Tezuka can hear his own soft gasps, heavy breathing, and shifting, as he thrusts into his hand and even the sound of his hand, rough against his cock. And above all of that, he can hear laughter, and breathless gasps, and wonders if they are fucking against his door. That thought makes him shudder, and tighten his fist around his cock. Although his eyes are tightly closed, the images of them, of the two that night, fucking on the floor of a dressing room, haunt him. He can't escape the picture, and, Tezuka thinks, he doesn't want to.

Tezuka pictures Yukimura coming, and then Fuji, head thrown back, and hears a dull thud that sounds suspiciously like someone hitting their head against a door, and comes into his hand, burying his face into his pillow to smother his sharp gasp.

-

"Did you have a good night?" Fuji asks, passing him a cup of tea the next morning.

"I slept fine," Tezuka responds, and doesn't look at Fuji, but accepts the tea.

"You look kind of pale. Perhaps you should sleep in the main room tonight, so you don't get cold."


	21. fade to black

**Fade to Black**

Featuring Tezuka, Fuji, Yukimura.

-

Parties are not so much parties as meeting for people to get names known, ramble about ideas, and start business ventures. Nothing is ever done at the parties, and the important people rarely remember what goes on, but they have people to do that.

All of that combined, Tezuka thinks, makes these after parties and events thrown in celebration for any given reason, pointless and quite boring. A meeting would suffice, not a party, full of loud music, too many people, too much drinking, too much... of anything.

"You don't have to look so glum, Tezuka," Fuji says softly, right next to Tezuka's shoulder. Although the model appeared out of nowhere, Tezuka didn't jump, didn't bat an eyelash. One adjusted to Fuji's appearings and disappearings. "It's just a party."

That's what it was defined as, and if Tezuka hadn't been the guest of honor for this party, he would have stayed home - he wasn't one for parties, especially like this.

Tezuka drained the glass of champagne he held, not even blinking at the flat, warm wine that tasted disgusting, and glanced at his watch, wondering how soon he could escape.

"So impatient to leave already, Tezuka?" Yukimura asks, from his other side, and Tezuka doesn't blink an eye. In things like this, the two of them normally stay far apart, but it doesn't surprise him, that they have congregated upon him at the moment. "You need something to keep you entertained."

"I'm fine," Tezuka says and is proud when his voice is steady, because his mind has jumped to the place it always goes, when he sees Yukimura and Fuji together, dressed or undressed. It doesn't help that the entertainment he thinks of is not suitable for any parties, especially one where there is a huge crush of people and he's the guest of honor.

"Nonsense," Fuji tells him. "Seiichi is right, you look like you can use some enjoyment."

"The party is just fine as it is."

"I think the party is what's dragging you down, making you look so glum," Fuji continues. "Atobe has rooms upstairs."

Tezuka wonders if he knows because he and Yukimura were in one of them recently, and squeezes his eyes closed so he can't see his two models, although they linger, in a much different state, behind his eyelids.

"Seiichi and I were going to occupy one." Fuji leans closer to whisper in his ear, and Tezuka can feel Yukimura grab his wrist, slender fingers sliding over his skin. He wants to shiver, but can't. "You should join us."

Tezuka's eyes fly open, and his mouth opens, curves to say 'No" but he can't, not when Fuji's eyes and open and looking at him directly, and there's that look on Yukimura's face that says he knows what he wants and he's going to get it. Tezuka's seen that look directed at a dozen different people, and watches them all cave in, and wonders if he can resist it. But it's futile - Tezuka caved in long ago.

Tezuka nods, and both of their faces revert to normal - smiling, gentle and soft, harmless looks on the faces of two pretty boys.

He is hard where they are soft; even their fingers, hands brushing over his body as they divest his clothes when they reach the room, are soft, gentle, hiding something much deeper. Yukimura's lips close around him and Fuji's hands run down his chest, lower, his fingers dragging over too sensitive skin, and Tezuka can't help but shudder. They're focusing on him, solely him, and well before the end of the evening, Tezuka's left wondering if he can survive the two of them, together.


End file.
